World Wildlife Fund
Tuesday 28 September 2010
BIG hills and loud thunder.
Cycling away from my friend Remi's house in Pertuit took me a while to close the front door, leaving the door keys hidden for him to get after return from his job. I think my roots had started to grow, having all the comforts the come with any home, “Get on that bike Wallis and go!” was the subconscious message from the head. A few miles out I was back on track, with the past few days of comfort just images on the camera and memories in the mind.
This area of France has a vast canal system, not for use by barges as in the UK, but for the collection and distribution of mountain drain-away water, of which is used by all the grapevine and orchard growers for crop watering. Occasionally I would see a concrete 8” trough/gutter water feed at the side of the fields, of which proved useful, using the water filter for filling the water bottles. Cycling on the Yellow Do roads, as shown on my map, makes fair progress.Using the white D roads can be quite twisty and windy, leading to farms and tiny villages. Once I did regret going down one. It was just South of Tarascon (nr Nimes) and needing to cut West to a yellow D road I had missed at Tarascon. 
The White D roads are almost single width, and the only ‘traffic’ I saw on this one was at first a horse, and later a tractor towing a trailer with harvested apples. This particular ‘lane’, for a better word, petered out into broken tarmac with pebbles, along with a fresh collection of puddles, that I tried to circumnavigate, apart from the big ones that I had no choice to go through. I was cursing myself for going down there, not knowing for sure if it was actually the ‘road’ the map showed, it went on like this for about 1 ½ miles, It was almost like what was to come in Africa, a jungle road, ‘fenced in’ with tall crops growing either side......eventually, and thankfully the tarmac showed up again and I calmed down, now heading for the town of Bellgarde.
The Tour de France route mountain climbs have kilometer markers placed alongside the road displaying present altitude, average gradient for next section, and remaining summit distance. Fully loaded, these sure did tick past slowly, slowly..slowly. (I'd love to return to these climbs on a road bike in the future and see how cycling compares).
The nastiest section of the climb was a nasty little piece, only a 100m length but with a 12% gradient, this proved a problem with the chain slip/jumping due to the worn sprocket but with a big grin on my face and feeling quite proud of my efforts, the 'finish' line was crossed. Marina + Kees had passed by on the last 100m slug, stopping at the top and capturing me finish the climb on their video camera. The café at the top was busy with road cyclist's that had climbed it from both sides. A quick hot chocolate break and time for payback, free-wheeling!! An amazing 8 miles of no pedalling. Half an hour later we started the 1489m climb of Col d’ Aspin, free-wheeling onto the town of Arreau. As the weather was closing in for the next few days (any excuse!) and to be sociable I joined Joe + Gillian at a hotel, and a meal in a local restaurant.
As forecast, the next day started grey and damp, we, the new team, had the1563m Col de Peyresourde to climb. Clad in rain coat and over trousers of we went. A short while later removing the rain trousers due to perspiration. Two hours later, engulfed in the cloud we'd rode up into, we made it to the summit, calling in at the summit café, not wanting to change into my only other dry clothes I sat there, longing for some extra warmth. Descending into the town of Bagneres du Luchon, here Joe + Gillian would head North, while I continued South-East to Barcelona, 200 miles away. With the day still being damp and cold we took the easy option and called it a day, after just (shhhh) 22 miles. The following day was just as bad, so I took a day of, catching up on emails, skyping, face-booking and generally being a lazy bum.
With a 'bon voyage' to Joe + Gillian the night before I cycled out of town, heading for the 1293m Col du Portillon, a French Ascent but Spanish Descent, country number two. The bad weather had started to clear with pleasant breaks in the cloud of cheerful blue. There was no official border check-point into Spain although 2 minutes into the country I was collared by national police, doing random checks on vehicles, the only problem with my 'vehicle' was the driver wasn't wearing his helmet, Spain being the only reason I actually carried one. The first town I rode into was Viehla, of where another climb would start, Petro de la Bonaigua, at 2072m. 
The climb had a few 9% gradients of which cycling was starting to prove difficult due to the chain slip, (the rear sprocket being worn was in need of reversing, not equipped with a chain-whip tool I had asked a bike mechanic at the last French town to do this but after removing it he said it couldn't be done) To date this pass gets the 'Free-wheel' cup award, 11 miles (ELEVEN!) of no pedalling, grinning like a cheshire cat, a spaghetti like ribbon of tarmac hugging the contours of the mountain descent, with no traffic, all for me, maravalloso!
A perfect spot for free-camping, directly on route and with clear mountain water.
Wooops, a mountain pass I had over-looked, maybe time to buy a Spanish road atlas? This had a 1707m summit, no cafe, no altitude signs, oh well, pedal on.
One more night of free-camping before making it to Barcelona. The hills seemed determined to give me my monies worth, although this could be seen by the twisty, winding route on my AutoRoute A4 printed pages, the only 'maps' for Spain I had to date. It was clear there were no more climbs when the maze-of-madness appeared. I was to head for the port, on the far side of the city, and there was only one option on how to get there, pedal and pray, asking my compass for guidance.
This area of France has a vast canal system, not for use by barges as in the UK, but for the collection and distribution of mountain drain-away water, of which is used by all the grapevine and orchard growers for crop watering. Occasionally I would see a concrete 8” trough/gutter water feed at the side of the fields, of which proved useful, using the water filter for filling the water bottles. Cycling on the Yellow Do roads, as shown on my map, makes fair progress.Using the white D roads can be quite twisty and windy, leading to farms and tiny villages. Once I did regret going down one. It was just South of Tarascon (nr Nimes) and needing to cut West to a yellow D road I had missed at Tarascon. 
The White D roads are almost single width, and the only ‘traffic’ I saw on this one was at first a horse, and later a tractor towing a trailer with harvested apples. This particular ‘lane’, for a better word, petered out into broken tarmac with pebbles, along with a fresh collection of puddles, that I tried to circumnavigate, apart from the big ones that I had no choice to go through. I was cursing myself for going down there, not knowing for sure if it was actually the ‘road’ the map showed, it went on like this for about 1 ½ miles, It was almost like what was to come in Africa, a jungle road, ‘fenced in’ with tall crops growing either side......eventually, and thankfully the tarmac showed up again and I calmed down, now heading for the town of Bellgarde.Thursday 9th September started on the white D roads, although not quite what I experienced the day before. Using these has the advantage of little traffic but the down side being few villages have shops, slowed even further by having to stop and double check the map/compass at every unsigned junction. Bothered by this I headed for the red D999. The red roads are more direct and some can be quite busy if the towns / cities they lead from have no motorway. The D999 lead in-to / out-of Nimes. Traffic came in ‘herds’, almost like sheep trundling down the road, collecting any ‘solo’ vehicles into their group. The further out from each town the thinner the herds get until back to the solo few here and there. Heading for Le Vigan, marked as 50km away, progress improved as no map checking required, just pedalling. When I got to Ganges it was time to hunt for a camp site. Three local bobby ‘on-the-beat’ sent me out of town,….not for antisocial behaviour, but to where the nearest camp site was! It’s so pleasing to see camp site signs when hunting for one, a sigh of relief that there’s somewhere, just a small patch of grass along with shower and toilet facilities that at the end of the day I can call home. Passing a few supermarkets en-route was good, knowing I could re-stock supplies first thing in the morning. Like a dog punished by it’s master, sent away without dinner, gloomy eyed and ears dropped, the camp site had closed for the season!
Cycling out of town, with the heat of the day and the hills that re-appeared I was in need of rest, and food. Spying an off-road turning I thought I’d try some free-camping, with a crystal-clear river close by I could splash myself down and filter for cooking and water bottle’s. This area was in quite a sunken windy hairpin section, and with only gravel to erect the tent upon realized it wasn’t too good when a big gust of wind turned the tent upside down, ermm, maybe time to pack it away and press on, maybe there is a camp site nearby. So with tent re-packed and panniers re-clipped of I go. Not a mile down the road were signs for a camp site, turning left off the D999 and back on myself a mile or so it must have been directly on the other side of said river I had tried to free-camp but hidden by the trees, a definite 3rd time lucky.
My Northward direction no doubt seemed strange, considering I was heading, eventually, to South Africa, but passing close to Millau I wanted to see the huge Viaduc de Millau bridge, often called the sky bridge. The days riding started with a gradual climb, up until Le Vigan, whereby the gradient increased. This continued for much of the day, sometimes I’d be rewarded with a 20 meter descent, followed by a 30 meter ascent! Making it to Millau I was rewarded with a massive descent, a smooth road for 2-3 miles into the town and, as being quite high, halfway down was a view-point where the city could be seen, with the huge (HUGE!!!) bridge in the back ground. Maybe I’m being sad, but as an engineer as far as bridges go it's impressive (designed by English man, Sir Norman Foster). For size comparison, in the 2nd picture, look at the river in the valley, there's another bridge just a bit further back. Measuring from the river to the top of the two central columns the 'Viaduc de Millau' is taller than the Eiffel tower! I wonder why there's no cycle lane?
The first town after Millau, Saint Afrique (Africa). A big town with a busy market place with stalls selling various products, though mainly antique furniture and bric-a-brac, i'd love to buy but pushed for space in the panniers.
Breaching the hill just outside Mirande where I had camped gave the first view of the Pyrenees, a part of the European section I had been looking forward to as I love the mountain range.
In the afternoon I finally made it Pau, this was pleasing as it meant I would start making a definite Southern route once again. The tourist office said nearest camp site were 8km East and West from centre, the last directions I wanted to head, especially as I'd have to go back against myself the following morning, so instead I contined South, to the next town, Gan. Seeing no signs for camping I saw a reasonable patch to free-camp. No streams or rivers around I headed to a shop to buy water. In the car-park I passed two ladies looking at me with interest. They walked over and started talking. One of them was a cycle tourer of whom had passed by earlier in a car and seen the Cape Town sign on the bike and was keen to talk. After telling them my plans I asked where the nearest camp site was, at this one of them said I could stay at her house the night, she had to go to a council meeting that evening but here husband would cycle into town and lead me to their house. Having a coffee in a café we waited for her husband to come along, and I followed him, up a few climbs, the 8km, to their house.
In the morning, after giving me directions to get back on-track my host’s left for work, leaving me to get ready and depart at my own pace. Not sure if I had followed the directions they gave me too close but I found an ace hikers routes, of which I could only imagine hacking down on my trails suspension mountain bike, into the town of Bescat.
Later arriving at Laruns of where the first of several big mountain passes I had plotted would start. The first being Col d’Aubisque, altitude of 1709m. Due to the fact I've already invested my time and effort on the ascent I have a 'rule' on the descent of any mountain summit, NO PEDALLING, I also like to see how far I can free-wheel, this one gave 4 mile, not too long but it only descended ~400m or so before a 100m ascent to the Col de Soulon, at 1474m. Finishing the day at a camp-ground at Argelse Gazost. Here I met a Danish couple, Marina + Kees and their HUGE dog Frodo. Now living in Spain they were holidaying in France for the Pyrenees mountain-dog show. I also met met a Scottish couple, and their mountain-dog, here for the show. Departing the camp site the following morning Marina + Kees said they would be heading up the Col du Tourmalet at mid-day and I would no doubt see them again.
Passing through Pierrefitte-Nestalas, a town en-route for the Col du Tourmalet pass, the highest climb on the Tour de France, I could make out two tourers ahead of me. Later, in the town of Luz-Saint Sauveur as I headed back to a supermarket we said ‘bonjour’. Later, after passing through another town I caught up with the two tourers, talking as we passed. Joe + Gillian, were from Scotland, exchanging our stories and such we grouped and cycled together, stopping here and there for snacks and breaks.
The Tour de France route mountain climbs have kilometer markers placed alongside the road displaying present altitude, average gradient for next section, and remaining summit distance. Fully loaded, these sure did tick past slowly, slowly..slowly. (I'd love to return to these climbs on a road bike in the future and see how cycling compares).
The nastiest section of the climb was a nasty little piece, only a 100m length but with a 12% gradient, this proved a problem with the chain slip/jumping due to the worn sprocket but with a big grin on my face and feeling quite proud of my efforts, the 'finish' line was crossed. Marina + Kees had passed by on the last 100m slug, stopping at the top and capturing me finish the climb on their video camera. The café at the top was busy with road cyclist's that had climbed it from both sides. A quick hot chocolate break and time for payback, free-wheeling!! An amazing 8 miles of no pedalling. Half an hour later we started the 1489m climb of Col d’ Aspin, free-wheeling onto the town of Arreau. As the weather was closing in for the next few days (any excuse!) and to be sociable I joined Joe + Gillian at a hotel, and a meal in a local restaurant.
As forecast, the next day started grey and damp, we, the new team, had the1563m Col de Peyresourde to climb. Clad in rain coat and over trousers of we went. A short while later removing the rain trousers due to perspiration. Two hours later, engulfed in the cloud we'd rode up into, we made it to the summit, calling in at the summit café, not wanting to change into my only other dry clothes I sat there, longing for some extra warmth. Descending into the town of Bagneres du Luchon, here Joe + Gillian would head North, while I continued South-East to Barcelona, 200 miles away. With the day still being damp and cold we took the easy option and called it a day, after just (shhhh) 22 miles. The following day was just as bad, so I took a day of, catching up on emails, skyping, face-booking and generally being a lazy bum. 
With a 'bon voyage' to Joe + Gillian the night before I cycled out of town, heading for the 1293m Col du Portillon, a French Ascent but Spanish Descent, country number two. The bad weather had started to clear with pleasant breaks in the cloud of cheerful blue. There was no official border check-point into Spain although 2 minutes into the country I was collared by national police, doing random checks on vehicles, the only problem with my 'vehicle' was the driver wasn't wearing his helmet, Spain being the only reason I actually carried one. The first town I rode into was Viehla, of where another climb would start, Petro de la Bonaigua, at 2072m. 
The climb had a few 9% gradients of which cycling was starting to prove difficult due to the chain slip, (the rear sprocket being worn was in need of reversing, not equipped with a chain-whip tool I had asked a bike mechanic at the last French town to do this but after removing it he said it couldn't be done) To date this pass gets the 'Free-wheel' cup award, 11 miles (ELEVEN!) of no pedalling, grinning like a cheshire cat, a spaghetti like ribbon of tarmac hugging the contours of the mountain descent, with no traffic, all for me, maravalloso!
A perfect spot for free-camping, directly on route and with clear mountain water.
Wooops, a mountain pass I had over-looked, maybe time to buy a Spanish road atlas? This had a 1707m summit, no cafe, no altitude signs, oh well, pedal on.The second night in Spain was memorable. Staying at a deserted camp-ground there was grey clouds rolling in and rumbles of distant thunder, not from the mountains, but South-East, the coast. Rain inevitably started to fall so I zipped myself into the tent and into the sleeping bag. It wasn't too long before the storm was overhead. Constantly counting the delay between the sky (and tent) illuminating flashes of lightening and the LOUD LOUD rumbles of thunder to see if it was moving in, or away. The sides of the tent once calm and quiet were now being blown by heavy gust's of wind, another one of those “what am I doing moments”. I tried to ignore it and fall to sleep, but who was I kidding? Keep counting, keep counting, 7 sec, 9 sec delay, the torrential rain eventually eased off as the rumbles eventually distanced from me, then would come back, teasing me “I'm going, I'm back”..... certainly one of those nights in my mobile 'home' that I'd never forget! “The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plane, and also on the camp sites”.
One more night of free-camping before making it to Barcelona. The hills seemed determined to give me my monies worth, although this could be seen by the twisty, winding route on my AutoRoute A4 printed pages, the only 'maps' for Spain I had to date. It was clear there were no more climbs when the maze-of-madness appeared. I was to head for the port, on the far side of the city, and there was only one option on how to get there, pedal and pray, asking my compass for guidance.Missing the 13:00 ferry to Majorca, I was booked in for the 23:00 over-night crossing. This gave me chance to visit the bike shop for advice or spares and then to 'lounge around' the bay area. Deciding to take a week of in Majorca, woulkd give my friend Andrew and myself time to catch up on things and a few snorkling / scuba sessions in the bay.
Next stop, after my 'holiday', Portugal.
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